Sammelalbum: An Inquisition
by amethystpomegranate
Summary: "West? Nah, he's fine. Just saw him yesterday. He was fine. FINE. Got it, you little creep? And don't you DARE tell me otherwise."
1. Voskresinnya (Ukrainian: Resurrection)

Okay, let's see . . .

_Location _. . . hm . . . that'll have to wait. Would "somewhere within the borders of Ukraine" suffice for now?

Unknown date, but I think it's a Friday.

Time is - let me see - 8:43 a.m.

First recording.

* * *

I hope mother doesn't mind me setting up this little apparatus in her backyard - my room in her house has been off-limits for years. Which, for the record, was _not_ my fault, and I should have known from the beginning that something like that was bound to-

*strangled coughing, followed by a burst of static*

Dammit . . . I barely walk a few miles, and already I feel like a wheezing old man. Anyway-

Ah, God dangit, is that blood? I thought I was _done_ spitting blood . . . seriously, can I not get off my bed - or rather, my refrigerator - for more than an hour without killing myself?

_Anyway._

. . . What was I saying?

Oh, right. Bound to happen. Something like this was bound to happen, if you put my house next to a place like that. So thanks to that little incident twenty years ago - or has it been longer? Whatever. Thanks to that little accident, my house is off-limits. And as a little side bonus, I'm a total wreck. Thanks, world.

So I can't live in my house. Woohoo. I moved in with mother for about a year. Needless to say, that didn't work out. At all.

My room in her house is now off-limits as well.

Against my will, and as a direct consequence of that first incident, I've become a bit of a curiosity among my siblings, so I've resolved to avoid mother's house during daylight hours - unless no one's home, of course. Then I can come and go whenever I freaking want.

Which brings me to the subject of this little recording.

I'm crouching at the base of a grassy hill near a bend in the sad little gray wooden fence that separates mother's yard from a big, flat patchwork of farmland that extends to infinity and who knows where. It's morning and way too bright; I think it's summer, but I haven't been outside in a while, so who knows.

Oh, right. Also I've been living in a burnt-out railcar turned on its side, all eaten away by rust and covered in peeling paint that looks like it got blown off in a windstorm. I boarded up the windows; all that sunlight was giving me a headache.

So I've pretty much been living in the dark and sleeping in an old refrigerator and trying to cover up whatever messes my wreck of a brother gets himself into. Ah, what a life.

Right. Getting back on topic. I'll keep this concise, 'cause I really don't know how much memory this recording thing has:

I built a recording device in mother's backyard. I plan to take it with me to Berlin, where there was a bit of an . . . accident that I feel obligated to deal with. I'll go into detail later about what happened, but for now, let's call it a "quiet butchery" of someone who was never entirely necessary and who will soon be peacefully forgotten.

I've assembled enough money to purchase a one-way plane ticket to Germany - if it can still be called that, after the events of yesterday - and to rent a small office space north of Berlin. I'd rather not say specifically where; this information will be disclosed only to my valued interviewees.

I will conduct a thorough investigation, as my health allows. I have nothing to lose, and certainly nothing to gain, other than a little amusement and a brief alleviation of my incurable boredom.

I will take this opportunity to read aloud my carefully compiled list of contacts for this investigation:

-Prussia, the victim's brother, goes by the name Gilbert Beilschmidt;

-Austria, likely the victim's brother as well, goes by the name Roderich Edelstein;

-Italy, relation to victim unknown- ah, never mind, let's take him off the list. He's useless.

Let's see . . . who else? Oh, here we go:

-Denmark, the victim's somewhat distant neighbor, goes by the name Mathias Køhler;

-Liechtenstein, indirectly related by- ah, let's take her off the list too. Useless.

Ah, and of course, a favorite suspect in murder investigations . . . shall I include _hi__m_?

I think I will; but let's leave his infamous name unspoken for now, shall we?

And now, my faithful listener, let's get started.

* * *

*static*


	2. Usvidomlennya (Ukrainian: Recognition)

*static*

XXX: "Alright, still unsure about the date. But it's Sunday, as far as I'm concerned. Investigation day one with interviewee Roderich-"

Mr. Edelstein: "I wasn't informed that this was an investigation . . . I believe I have a right to know what is being investigated here?"

XXX: "Brown hair, parted on the left-"

Mr. Edelstein: ". . . On the right."

XXX: "I apologize; English is not my first-"

Mr. Edelstein: "It's not mine either, but I believe that is beside the point. Please continue."

XXX: "I will. Brown hair, parted on the _right_; glasses; rather pointed features . . ."

Mr. Edelstein: "Is there a purpose to this description?"

XXX: "Yes. Please do not interfere with my records."

Mr. Edelstein: "Records?"

XXX: "Yes, records. And please refrain from raising your eyebrow in that infuriating manner. I'm sure we would both like to get out of here as soon as possible."

Mr. Edelstein: "I can't say I disagree . . ."

XXX: "Anyway, I am conducting an investigation regarding the death of a distant brother of yours-"

*scrape of chair*

Mr. Edelstein: "Excuse me?"

XXX: "Is there a problem? And please sit back down; your face against the backdrop of that hideous wallpaper is giving me a headache."

Mr. Edelstein: "What are your qualifications?"

XXX: "That is none of your concern. I am here in Berlin as a result of unfortunate coincidence. Now please, return to your chair."

*soft scrape of shoes on the floor*

Mr. Edelstein: "Unwashed, mousy hair in dire need of a trim, pallid complexion, nervous pupils that fail to maintain focus for more than a few seconds . . . stained clothing, unsteady hands-"

XXX: "Wh-What are you-"

Mr. Edelstein: "I believe your record could benefit from an accurate description of both parties. Let it also be recorded that you are clearly unfit for an investigation of such magnitude as this one, and that I wish to conclude this informal interview immediately."

XXX: "I . . . sorry, I must admit, your personal description presented you as . . . slightly more . . . timid."

Mr. Edelstein: "The circumstances being as they are, I've been forced into a more . . . outspoken role. Now would you please tell me why this investigation has been placed in the hands of a poorly dressed child?"

*scrape of chair on floor*

XXX: "Dammit, I'm not a freaking child! Now, are we going to finish this interview . . . or . . . a-are- I . . ."

*coughing*

XXX: "I . . . a-apologize . . ."

Mr. Edelstein: "Sit down. You are clearly in no state to stand, let alone investigate a murder."

XXX: "O-Only if you . . . return to your chair as well."

*coughing*

Mr. Edelstein: "I will do no such thing. Sit down."

XXX: "O-Okay . . ."

*scrape of chair on floor*

Mr. Edelstein: "Now, what is it that you planned to . . . hm . . ."

XXX: "Um . . . sir?"

Mr. Edelstein: "Yes?"

XXX: "Is something wrong?

Mr. Edelstein: ". . ."

XXX: ". . . A-And don't look at me like that!"

Mr. Edelstein: "May I ask why you are suddenly so fervently hiding your hand in your shirt?"

XXX: ". . ."

Mr. Edelstein: "Well?"

XXX: "No, you may not."

Mr. Edelstein: ". . . Is that blood?"

XXX: "Wh-Where, on my hand? You can't even see my hand!"

Mr. Edelstein: "No, on your chin. It certainly wasn't there a moment ago."

XXX: "O-Oh . . . I just . . . I must have . . ."

Mr. Edelstein: "And what was it you said about your hand?"

XXX: "Just . . . J-Just get out. We're done with the interview . . . you said you wanted to leave, didn't you?"

Mr. Edelstein: "I . . . think you could benefit from seeing a doctor . . . your symptoms seem rather-"

XXX: "I-I'm fine, you stuck-up son-of-a-"

*retching sounds*

Mr. Edelstein: "Wh-What-"

XXX: "It's f-fine . . . I didn't eat anything today . . . so there's . . . nothing . . . coming up, if you know what I mean."

Mr. Edelstein: "Yes, I know what you mean. Now show me your hand."

XXX: "I . . . really would rather-"

Mr. Edelstein: "Am I correct in assuming you don't wish for any . . . law enforcement authorities to be involved in this situation . . . ?"

XXX: "Y-Yeah, but I don't see how that-"

Mr. Edelstein: "Show me your hand."

XXX: ". . . Fine."

*muffled rustle of fabric*

XXX: "There, see? Nothing to get excited about. It's just a little blood."

Mr. Edelstein: "From . . . ?"

XXX: "My mouth, you pasty idiot- And don't raise your eyebrow like that!"

Mr. Edelstein: "I apologize . . . please continue."

XXX: "I said it came from my mouth. I coughed on it, genius."

Mr. Edelstein: "I see . . . now please allow me to finish my sentence that you so abruptly ended."

XXX: "What sentence was that?"

Mr. Edelstein: "I started to comment that your symptoms seem rather serious . . . but I'd like to revise that . . ."

XXX: ". . . Well?"

Mr. Edelstein: "I would simply like to note that your symptoms strike me as somewhat . . . familiar."

XXX: "U-Um . . . h-how so?"

Mr. Edelstein: "I can't be sure who else would recognize you . . . but am I correct in saying that I jeopardize my health by being in the same room as-"

*static*

* * *

XXX: "Okay, I turned our recording device back on. Now, may we continue the interview?"

Mr. Edelstein: ". . ."

XXX: "No objections, Mr. Edelstein?"

Mr. Edelstein: ". . ."

XXX: "I see . . . well, I must admit, it's . . . rather comforting to know that we now have a few more things in common . . ."

*soft coughing*

XXX: "You have some blood on you now, too, yes? Of course . . . yours is coming from a different place . . . but I suppose a small cut in your neck is close enough to your mouth-"

*violent coughing*

XXX: "Mr. Edelstein, is something wrong? You really do look rather pale . . . and I've never seen such steady eyes . . . you haven't blinked in nearly ten minutes . . ."

*footsteps*

XXX: "Hm . . . I believe I've cleaned up all the red . . . poor Roderich really did paint the floor rather . . . spectacularly. Who would have thought such a skinny neck possessed so much blood? Oh well . . . I guess we're done for now . . ."

*static*


End file.
